


Intro To The Supernatural

by FelineIncognito



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Ballet Dancer Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is Stiles Stilinski's Anchor, Genius Locai, Like super slow y'all, Misunderstandings, Not quite a failwolf Derek Hale, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf) is a Failwolf, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's Anchor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28518681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelineIncognito/pseuds/FelineIncognito
Summary: Stiles would be the first to admit that he didn't know much about regular wolf packs (yet) let alone werewolf ones (double yet). But he did know about humans. He knew that humans were complicated beyond their base desires for community and safety and belonging. He knew that humans were resilient and usually only reached their full potential in large groups and communities.He wasn't so sure about part-time wolves. But some of it had to translate over. Because everything, even the supernatural, had rules, had reasoning, had some form of logic behind it. No matter how twisted and arbitrary it may seem to an outsider like himself.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Emissary Hale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles would be the first to admit that he didn't know much about regular wolf packs (yet) let alone werewolf ones (double yet). But he did know about humans. He knew that humans were complicated beyond their base desires for community and safety and belonging. He knew that humans were resilient and usually only reached their full potential in large groups and communities.  
> He wasn't so sure about part-time wolves. But some of it had to translate over. Because everything, even the supernatural, had rules, had reasoning, had some form of logic behind it. No matter how twisted and arbitrary it may seem to an outsider like himself.

Stiles would be the first to admit that he didn't know much about regular wolf packs (yet) let alone werewolf ones (double yet). But he did know about humans. He knew that humans were complicated beyond their base desires for community and safety and belonging. He knew that humans were resilient and usually only reached their full potential in large groups and communities.

And he knew that if humans faced the crazy crap that he and Beacon Hills' resident creatures of the night have there would be friendships forged to last a lifetime and blood oaths to not tell a soul about what they had seen because like hell anyone would ever believe them before they snuck the good liquor out of their parent's cabinets to drown out the shitshow that was their lives now. It's the sort of thing he and Scott would have done before his best friend was bitten and became one of said creatures of the night.

He wasn't so sure about part-time wolves. But some of it had to translate over. Because everything, even the supernatural, had rules, had reasoning, had some form of logic behind it. No matter how twisted and arbitrary it may seem to an outsider like himself.

Jackson only became the kanima because the Bite triggered a long-coming identity crisis hopped up on steroids and with deadlier results. Allison was an impressionable, overly sheltered, teenager dealing with her own identity crisis over her sweet doting grandfather being a complete racist psychopath who had raised the aunt she idolized to be an equally racist and psychotic serial killer and sexual predator. Though Stiles wasn't sure how much Gerard had to do with that last one. Erica and Boyd had just wanted to change themselves and their situations and to belong somewhere for once and Derek had offered it to them, he had just left out a few key bits of information that left the two teens feeling lied to and betrayed. And Isaac…

Stiles let out a heavy sigh thinking about the curly-haired pup and the broody alpha he was somehow legally under the care of. Hale couldn't be more than four, maybe five, years older than the rest of them and less than a year before had been on Beacon Hill's Most Wanted list; and he had been entrusted with the care of an underage domestic abuse victim with an attitude problem and abandonment issues? Without even showing proof of a steady income or stable living conditions? Stiles didn't know how he had pulled it off but he figured the kid was probably safer with his Alpha than some family not in-the-know only taking him in for the state paycheck, so he was gonna just let that one be.

That left Lydia. His stunning strawberry-blonde goddess who swept in one day, with Jackson in tow, demanding answers. You couldn't really have Jackson (and apparently Allison) without Lydia Martin and while before that would have made Stiles ecstatic at the idea of an excuse to spend time with the girl and maybe show her just how integral he, a squishy gangly human, had become in this mismatched group of gorgeous supernatural beings. Now it made him sick to his stomach that even with the obvious evidence that she had to be _something_ for the Bite to have not taken or killed her and the fact that she was essentially being courted by a member of the local forming pack, she still seemed to consider herself separate from their supernatural shenanigans. She was so _so_ smart it made Stiles' head spin but gods she was being so infuriatingly dumb.

But that was all okay. Because he got humans for the most part. Humans were laughingly simple if you took the time to observe and break them down. Except humans who moonlighted as broody bossypants alphas with magic eyebrows that disappeared when they went all growly.

"I have no idea what the hell I'm doing."

Stiles scoffed and leaned back in his chair sidled up almost too close to the brooding alpha. Better too close to him than too close to said alpha's leering (undead?) uncle. He wished he knew a way to reverse whatever it was that Lydia had done to bring the creeperwolf back. "You're not a _complete_ failwolf here Hale, just a bit rough around the edges. But we can't smooth them out if you-"

"You don't get it Stiles." Derek grits out and the younger boy's mouth snaps shut. He takes a deep breath and when he opens his eyes they're surrounded by a thin ring of glowing red and his fangs are starting to drop. His shoulders are tense and his hands keep clenching and releasing like he's squeezing a stress ball. "I was never meant to be an Alpha. If I was lucky Laura would have chosen me to be her Second, but even that happening was a long shot. I wasn't raised for leadership. Just wasn't made for it. I just-" He cuts himself off with a frustrated growl and pushes himself back from the table they had all gathered around.

Deaton raises a judgmental eyebrow at the young alpha with a low thoughtful hum and Argent lets out a sigh that speaks to his levels of exasperation and exhaustion. But not Peter. Peter just chuckles and leans back in his seat with a lazy stretch as he looks around at the tired faces of those gathered.

"Well, that took longer than I expected."

"Could you just not right now Peter?" Stiles sighs. He gets up, making his way around the table towards the kitchen. Peter watches the usually spastic Spark as he putters about his nephew's new and surprisingly fully furbished kitchen, pulling out the fixings for coffee and tea and enough mugs for the men he had finally managed to coerce a 'formal' sit down with.

"Come now Spark, you can't tell me that you haven't been expecting something like that since he bit the first of his pups." Deaton and Chris sigh at his cheek but he grins at the low, almost wolf-like, growl he gets from the teenager as he digs through the refrigerator. "Although I suppose it could have been worse. At least my nephew seems to have moved on from his ridiculous 'anger for an anchor' phase and his damned guilt complex to something more stable to go along with his shiny new pack and those fresh bonds to keep him nice and grounded."

"Wait," Stiles tenses as Argent speaks up. The boy's back is not quite to the men seated at the worn table but still turned away enough they can't really see his face. "Are you telling me that Hale bit **children** while his anchor was fucking **anger**?" Peter sees the way Stiles took deep measured breaths and rolled his wrists, clenching his fists as the smell of ozone started to fill the room. He licks his lips. "And this is the man- the kid you expect us to be okay with running this territory?"

Deaton hums, turning to face Argent but his eyes resting on Stiles' tense shoulders just a moment too long, one hand trailing down to fiddle with a leather corded bracelet on his wrist. So that was where the smell of herbs and stale magic was coming from. "Though I share many of your reservations about Mr. Hale's driving logic behind his choice in Betas and his, still fairly relevant, issues concerning proper anchors and control. I must confess that he has shown more promise in the last few weeks than I had ever expected from him, especially considering how Talia used to worry over him before the fire."

Argent scoffs and Peter can feel the eye roll from here. "Excuse me if I don't take that as a shining recommendation for his Alpha potential."

"You should." Stiles' voice is low and dark and makes a delightful shiver roll down Peter's spine. He wonders if Argent felt it even as Deaton goes impossibly still and fiddles with that damned charm wrapped about his wrist. Stiles doesn't look at any of them as he picks the tray of refreshments he had put together up off the kitchen counter and turns to make his way back to the table. The druid pointedly does not look at the boy until he's taken a seat. "Druids tend to be cryptic, stubborn, almost possessive and territorial as wolves and overall, kinda petty. They like their 'balance' and their 'traditions' and generally dislike anything that disrupts the status quo too much. They're not likely to help anyone they don't have strong ties or sworn loyalties to or just offend their stuffy sensibilities. So that's the closest you're gonna get to a glowing endorsement from our good Dr. Deaton." His eyes flash almost Beta gold for a second as they rake over the three men. Long fingers wrap about a mug and clutch it close to his chest as he leans back in his chair, the piece of furniture creaking in protest at the teen's abuse of it's function. Peter waits until the boy takes his first sip before grabbing one of the mugs for himself. "Though I have to admit, a druid on a first name basis with the Alpha on who's territory they reside but no one else in the pack seemed to know? Reeks of an Emissary to me." Deaton's eyes are dull and bored but Peter can hear his heartrate spiking as Stiles' hands flex around his mug the smell of ozone spiking for a moment and steam begins to slowly rise from it before he takes a sip. The druid's fingers clench around his bracelet. "So that honestly raises a few questions for me. Questions that I told myself I wasn't going to ask while Derek was here because I'm not sure he's ready for the answers. Questions I probably shouldn't ask with zombiewolf in the room, but we've got Argent here if he decides to go Holy Vengeance mode again."

"I'm not entirely sure I wholly understand what you're implying Mr. Stilinski. Yes, I was Talia's Emissary and I handled most of the family's legal affairs after the fire, but I hardly see what questions that would raise that Derek cannot-"

"Alpha Hale." Stiles' voice is polite and his tone pleasant but his eyes are flashing again, his smile a little too much a baring of teeth to Peter's instincts.

"Excuse me?"

Stiles shrugs, "You're not Emissary anymore. Honestly, your loyalties are still undeclared far as I can tell. And you haven't approached the standing Alpha -Alpha of the pack you swore to serve and protect, mind you- to formally introduce yourself and petition for permission to continue your residence in his territory. At this point you, my dude, are kinda up there with Denethor. Technically someone of note but lookin' kinda power hungry and only out for your own gain overall but still 'civic-minded' and sticking to an advisory role enough to bear the argument that you do what you do for the people. Which I don't really buy, like, at all... So maybe more Wormtongue? Anyway, my point is that while Derek won't force the issue, I have no such qualms." His smile turns sharp and predatory. It makes Argent squirm and his scent go nervous sour and it makes something in Peter rise up in anticipation. "Druid Deaton, while you reside on Hale Land you will show Derek Hale the respect he is due as Alpha of this territory and a son of the Hale line. Your service to the family of Hale under Alpha Talia has been found lacking and -should you choose to remain- you are compelled to defend your actions leading up to and directly following the demise of your Alpha and her pack, whose safety you had been charged with."

Deaton's impassive façade begins to crack and his voice is strained as he almost sneers at the boy. "I don't know what you _think_ you understand about this world you seem so intent on being a part of Mr. Stilinski but there are forces at work that are older than Beacon Hills and more powerful than even blood as old as the Hale's." Stiles' smile hasn't left his face, if anything it's just turned more smug. Argent is writing something in an old worn journal and Peter would laugh and make a joke at the idea of the man taking notes if he wasn't more focused on the (one-sided) power struggle. "This land is **powerful** and steeped in magic beyond even **my** comprehension. You are out of your depth boy. This isn't a game. Just who do you think you are to speak for Alpha Hale when he isn't here?"

Stiles chuckles and leans back in his chair, taking another drawn out drag of his still steaming drink. "I am Miecyslaw Casmir Stilinski, Spark and defender of Beacon County and member of the Hale Pack under Alpha Derek Hale." He smiles slow and sharp and the air around him grows heavy with the more and more familiar feeling of the boy's magic. Peter can feel when Deaton's little charm crumbles and gets swept away, leaving the Druid open to outside forces and magics. He can see when Stiles registers what just happened by the predatory glint in his eye. "My friends call me Stiles. But you, Druid Deaton, you may call me Emissary Hale."


	2. Supernatural 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Deaton, I expect full answers that actually make sense and Peter-" He's breathing hard now, hard and fast and Derek can hear the worrying speed of his heartbeat. "Just try not to screw us over and I might not find a way to send you back to wherever Lydia dragged you from."

It had been such an uneventful couple of weeks (barring that failed attempt at a meeting Stiles had dragged him to with Argent and Deaton). Ever since Deaton had informed Stiles of his Spark the boy had thrown himself headfirst into researching just what the hell that meant but that didn't keep him from turning the rest of Beacon Hill's supernatural world on its head. After they had handled Jackson's whole Kanima issue and taken out Gerard, Stiles had sat Chris, Deaton and even Uncle Peter down in the middle of the pack's den (a great spacious loft that was almost as derelict as the subway station) for a long overdue crash course on the supernatural world and adjacent topics for the recently initiated. Including the Sheriff.

Stiles had burst in through the loft's sliding door as his betas were getting settled, as far from Allison as they could without offending Scott, with his father in tow and sat him down with a huff before moving to stand behind Derek's left shoulder. He had stiffened as Stiles took his place, leveling a glare at his father and the rest of the pack all the while. He had barely been able to suppress the shudder as the pups started to fall into line, Scott and Allison untangled themselves from each other (much to Chris' relief) and the Sheriff seemed to deflate at whatever he saw in his son's face. Peter barked out a laugh and he felt Stiles' ire shift towards his uncle for a moment.

"Care to share with the class there, creeperwolf?"

"Oh nothing of note, Spark. Nothing at all." He sees Lydia perk up at the mention of Stiles' own touch of Other.

"Whatever," The boy grumbles out and Derek can _feel_ when he steps forward before he places a hand on his shoulder, his grip light but grounding and more appreciated than he thought it would have ever been.

He can see the way the Sheriff tenses at his son's lingering touch on the older man's shoulder. The older man he had personally arrested under suspicion of murder. "Stiles-"

"Alright, so welcome to the first meeting of Intro to The Supernatural." He doesn't need to be watching the boy to know he's avoiding looking at his father who does **not** look happy at being talked over. "We're gonna do some introductions for the uninitiated or just those of ya who haven't been payin' attention. So uh, I expect a few of you to take notes here cause there will be a test at the end. Okay then, for this class your professors here are: Chris Argent, Hunter of the Argent clan and currently regent and representative of the local branch until our own Aly comes of age for her grand destiny and claims her place as Matriarch. Next we have Dr. Deaton, Beacon Hill's local vet and Emissary to the late Alpha Talia Hale, 15th of her line to stand as Alpha to the Beacon Territory Pack. Former Emissary Deaton is a practicing druid and has been recognized by most supernatural forces to be an acceptable placeholder until the Hale pack is back up to snuff. After that ya got Peter Hale, Left-Hand to the late Alpha Talia Hale and blood kin to Alpha Derek Hale. Due to certain circumstances Peter's current place in the Hale Pack is undetermined and will be discussed once those who are due a say are brought up to date on his transgressions against Kin and Pack and Territory and what this means in the supernatural world and furry politics." He takes a deep breath and the hand on Derek's shoulder tightens. The Sheriff's eyes that have been trained on each man as Stiles introduced them are now resting on him, flicking over his tense form and the hand on his shoulder up to the boy still standing in a position of importance and power even if he doesn't know it. But this is Stiles so he probably knows exactly what he's doing. "And here we have Alpha Derek Hale, son of the late Talia Hale and 17th of his line to stand as Alpha to the Beacon Territory Pack. Though young for his station Alpha Hale has proven his worth as a provider and defender to those in his care and has earned his Claim to the title of Alpha and the traditional territory of the Hale Pack."

He expects Stiles to move away after that. To give his shoulder one last grounding, reaffirming, squeeze then move off to sit with his dad or pull back to stand vigil in his unwitting place of honour. But he doesn't. The younger man's hand seems to rest heavier on his shoulder like it's all that's holding him up as he squeezes almost painfully. Stiles' scent turns that ash and sour of nerves and anxiety and frustration that he had almost gotten out of the damned couch the boy usually spread himself out on when he had taken over the loft researching whatever the star of that week's horror show was. It shifts and Derek feels his hackles raise and can see the way his betas all react, sitting up and staring at the boy with curious eyes and invasive noses. Stiles takes a deep breath and shifts to stand a little closer to Derek, close enough to share body heat, close enough for both their scents to get a little mixed up.

"I'm not really gonna be one of your teachers but uh-" Another deep breath and the hand is gone and he moves to stand in front of Derek. A solid wall of 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone and sarcasm wrapped in the scent of earth and storms, fire and blood and Other. "My name is- ho boy- **My** name is uh, is Miecyslaw Stilinski, Beacon Hills' resident Spark and member of the Hale Pack. I stand as Emissary, Second and uh- and Left-Hand to Alpha Hale until a time as he chooses someone worthy of each role. You can still just call me Stiles for now."

Not so unwitting after all then.

Derek knows he's staring. Knows that the Sheriff is looking between the two of them with something edging on rage and resignation and confused desperation. He knows that the betas are confused by all of the formal language and titles and are just waiting for Stiles' permission to let the floodgates open on all of their questions. Lydia is watching the entire room with that cold calculation that makes him think she might be perfect for Emissary or Left Hand but next to her Jackson is glaring at Stiles like the boy's very existence offends him.

"Wait," Allison has pulled herself from using Scott as a body pillow and is leaning forward, her attention focused on Stiles where he still stands firm between the rest of the room and Derek. "That's not possible. You're not allowed to be Emissary and Second and- and his fucking Left-Hand Stiles. Do you even know what the left-Hand is?!"

"Allison-" Chris sighs like just the thought of the impending argument exhausts him.

Stiles laughs. It's a sharp bark of sour humour that cuts Chris off and makes the rest of the room shift uneasily. "You think I went into this blind Aly? You think I didn't do my fucking research? I know exactly what every role I have claimed entails and I will do my damned best to fulfill every single duty until the rest of you are ready to step the fuck up and start making this half-assed attempt at a pack something that will make everything out there think twice before they set so much as a **foot** on Hale Land."

"Stiles," When did he stand up? When did he move close enough to lay a hand on the boy's shoulder and try to pull him back into his space? "Come on-"

The boy whirls back to look at him and there's something burning in his eyes that makes Derek dry swallow. "No, Derek. There is too much crap out there that we are not anywhere equipped to handle and I refuse to stand back and let them twiddle their thumbs while the rest of you pull your heads out of your asses. So the four of you are going to walk everyone in this room through the basics of what it means to be in a werewolf pack or allied with one. What the roles are and what is expected of them as betas. You are going to tell my dad about just what the hell has been going on these past few months so I can be sure he's not going out there to fight some big bad half-cocked and blind. Deaton is going to help Lydia figure out what the fuck she is that the bite didn't kill her and didn't take and **you** Argent-" Now his fury was trained on the tired looking man, "You are going to explain your family's long and fucked up history and morals to your daughter and the kids she almost helped kill and to my father and to every wolf in this room so they have an idea of just what the hell they are dealing with. Deaton, I expect full answers that actually make sense and Peter-" He's breathing hard now, hard and fast and Derek can hear the worrying speed of his heartbeat. "Just try not to screw us over and I _might_ not find a way to send you back to wherever Lydia dragged you from."

Peter laughs between an exhausted looking Argent and Deaton who reeked of fear and nerves despite his usual stoic expression. He smiles at Stiles and it's all teeth. "Oh I knew I should have bit you when I had the chance. You are a formidable human, but you would have been a **_glorious_ **wolf."


	3. First Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Then I challenge you young Spark, for the Hale pack and Alpha."
> 
> "Uh, no. That is something that is not happening here. You do not get to come in and challenge people for- for other people. That's not something we do here."
> 
> "Then you forfeit."
> 
> "Nope. Nu-uh. You are leaving Beacon County and-"
> 
> "Then I challenge you for Beacon County, and all that resides within it-"
> 
> "Dude! Dude, what is your fucking damage?"
> 
> "Including the Hale pack and the sleeping Nemeton."
> 
> "And there it is. Always comes back to the fucking Nemeton." He looked up at the teeth bared down at them. And he knows that he wouldn't win in a fight against this thing. Even with the entire pack behind him he would get his ass handed to him on a silver platter. This ancient, powerful creature knew it too. Knew he wasn't strong enough yet to hold on to his claim on this territory and his pack, his family. He couldn't defend them against something like this, at least not by fighting it like it wants.
> 
> "Fine," He forces his body to relax, slowing down his racing heart and evening out his laboured breathing. "Take me instead."

"Leave. Them. Alone." There's a trickle of spit -or maybe blood, probably a mix of the two, it's so dark he can't really tell- trailing down his chin and he hisses as he wipes it away with the edge of a torn sleeve. Damn that stung. "Leave beacon Hills. Turn the fuck around and never look back and **maybe** I'll let you leave in one piece."

The giant (really really giant and Stiles was just not going to think about that) creature cocks its head at him a lets out a wheezing puff of steam and a series of hiccupy creaking sort of squeaks. It was- was it laughing at him?

"Hey dude, I'm not fucking around here. You're. Not. Welcome. In. My. Territory. So get your scaly ass out of here before I get tired of looking at it okay?" The creature just laughed again, throwing it's scaly head back for good measure. "I really feel like there is a communication issue happening here. Please tell me I have not spent the last half hour _fighting_ and trying to _reason with_ a big bad that didn't even _understand me_?!"

_"Your territory, young Spark?"_

"Whoa, okay. So you do talk. Like, English." Granted it sounded like Ian McKellen's voice had been layered over Ewan McGregor's and shoved through one of those old-timey tinny sounding radios was echoing around in his cranium but he figured that counted as talking for a creature he had thought didn't exist outside of storybooks until earlier that day. "So, uh, you know my whole spiel still stands right? The 'this is my territory and I _will_ defend it even if it means sending you to hell?' Or ya know, wherever things like _you_ go when people like _me_ kill you."

The creature starts puffing out steam as it starts the weird hiccup squeaks again and okay, Stiles knew he wasn't the most imposing of figures but he had spent a long-ass time making sure he wasn't just some flimsy human anymore. He was a fucking Spark -whatever that meant, Deaton still hadn't been very forthcoming with information about that- and he was a member of the Hale Pack, the defenders of Beacon Hills. A _valued_ member dammit. So like _hell_ he was going to let some overgrown metallic lizard with a bad case of heartburn come in here and fuck shit up.

_"So you lay Claim to this land?"_

"Stiles!" Shit. He had been hoping to handle this before a certain Sourwolf got wise. And he did not sound happy. He whirls to face where he had the Alpha coming from and sweeps one arm out, the other hand reaching into his pocket coating his fingers in the pinch of Mountain Ash he kept on hand. The dormant line he had set before he lured the creature out into the middle of the woods flares to life. Two wolves run into it with a snarl.

"What the fuck, Stilinski?" Stiles sighed. If Derek had managed to drag Jackson out to hunt down his ass that meant the rest of the puppies weren't too far off. "Break the fucking barrier you dipshit!" Yeah, like that was gonna happen.

The creature -he may as well call it what it is, the dragon, the motherfucking _dragon_ \- shakes its head and stamps a foot impatiently with an imperious ruffling of enormous wings that reminds him of Lydia preening when bringing the collective attention back to her. _**"** Do you lay Claim to this land, it's Alpha and pack?"_

"Stiles-" He can hear Derek call out, his voice choked and nearly drowned by the roars and cries of the pack as they run up. "Don't answer him. Just let it go. Break the line, Stiles."

"No can do Sourwolf. When something like a fucking _dragon_ asks if you claim a place - a place where you live by the by- that's the kinda thing you gotta be honest about, ya know?" He starts circling the dragon, rolling his shoulders back as he moves himself more firmly between the giant beast and his wolves, his pack. He stares as dead on into great amber eyes as he can considering the size of the head they're set in. "I, Miecyslaw Casmir Stilinski, as Spark and Emissary to the Hale pack and its Alpha lay claim to Beacon County and all that resides within it, as Hale territory under the protection of the Hale pack and Alpha." He shudders at the wave of power that washes over him and the pack and the dragon sighs, stretching its head back as it unfurls its wings. Stiles sucks in a breath as the moonlight dances over bronze scales in stark contrast to claws and teeth as pale as sun-bleached bone.

_"Then I challenge you young Spark, for the Hale pack and Alpha."_

"Uh, no. That is something that is not happening here. You do not get to come in and challenge people for- for _other people_. That's not something we do here."

_**"** Then you forfeit."_

"Nope. Nu-uh. You are leaving Beacon County and-"

_"Then I challenge you for Beacon County, and all that resides within it-"_

"Dude! Dude, _what_ is your fucking damage?"

_"Including the Hale pack and the sleeping Nemeton."_

Stiles sighs, "And there it is. Always comes back to the fucking Nemeton." He looked up at the -somehow- smug looking dragon, its ginormous wings still stretched out behind it and its teeth bared down at them. And he knows that he wouldn't win in a fight against this thing. Even with the entire pack behind him he would get his ass handed to him on a silver platter. This ancient, powerful creature knew it too. Knew he wasn't strong enough yet to hold on to his claim on this territory and his pack, his family. He couldn't defend them against something like this, at least not by fighting it like it wants.

"Fine," he growls, not as impressive as one of the wolves but he was only human-plus after all. He pushes the tension out of his shoulders, unclenches his jaw and pries open his balled up fists. He forces his body to relax, slowing down his racing heart and evening out his laboured breathing. "Take _me_ instead."

The pack makes their objections known a little louder than he expected. Now didn't that make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside?

"You want a magic boost right? That's why you're after the stupid Nemeton. Well a Spark _willingly_ acting as a portable magic charger must be more useful in the long-run right? I mean," he smiles self deprecatingly and spreads his arms out in a sweeping motion indicating his whole person. "I _am_ magic, dude. Even if I can't use it there's a helluva lot of juice in this fragile little pack. That's gotta be a better deal that a _dying_ Nemeton forcefully bound and drained against its will.."

He can feel the dragon's thoughtful hum reverberate down in his chest like a good bass. _"You would give yourself in exchange for the young Alpha and his pack?"_

Stiles feels his grin stretching his cheeks painfully as he bares his teeth at the dragon -a fucking d _ragon_ , he still needed a moment to take that one in- "And for all of Beacon County. You leave Hale territory, promise to leave in peace and never return and I will go with you. Willingly."

"Stiles-" Scott hisses and he can feel the wolf pushing against the mountain ash barrier. "Stiles you can't do this man. We can figure this out. Derek, come on man, tell him we'll figure this out. Fuck! Stiles, bro, we'll go to Deaton, we'll call Chris, just don't do this!"

He hears Jackson and Lydia yelling his name and calling him an idiot, Erica bites out to not be a hero 'this isn't a comic book, Batman', Boyd is growling somewhere in there and that alone says a lot for the guy. He can't hear Derek or Isaac. And he hates that he's making them watch, helpless as they lose someone, unable to do a _nything_ again.

"I offer myself in exchange for Beacon Territory and its residents including the Hale pack and Alpha." The dragon takes a step forward and roars so loud he swears his ears pop. The wolves roar and Lydia screams as everything fades to black.

 ** _"Welcome, young Spark."_** The voice echoed in his head. He comes to to silence and the feeling of his wolves pressing against the barrier. Derek makes an actual dent in the magic. The dragon roars loud and _angry_.

"Who are you?"

_**"We have been called many names in many tongues through more lifetimes than you can count. But you may call us Nemeton."** _

"Nemeton? You mean the giant stump in the middle of the preserve?"

He can feel the thrum of displeasure mixed with affirmation, _**"We are more than some stump, boy. We are Beacon Hills... but We are growing weak."**_

His fingers press deeper into the soft dirt and dry pines under his hands, it gets under his nails and digs into the pads of his fingers. He sees splatters of blood mixed with too-familiar black goo, dark hair splayed against pale skin and flashes of warm gold cut out by electric blue. He can feel the pain buried deep down to its very roots. "You need help." It's not a question. He can feel the truth in his words even before the wave of pleasure at his understanding. "You need _my_ help. But why?"

 _ **"You already hold a piece of Our power."**_ It was starting to give him a headache, the strange buzzing voice in the back of his head. And now that it had mentioned it he registered the warm hum beneath his skin, it seemed to grow when he focused on it. _**"We are old, We are tired, We do not wish to see Our lands unprotected."**_

"Is that what this is? This burning?"

_**"You hold a piece of Our power."** _

"You said that already."

 ** _"You are very powerful for so young a Spark, but you could be more_."** There were ore voices overlapping in his head now, whispering promises of power, untapped potential, warnings of those who had come before. Found unworthy, found to be too weak, too limited.

"Why me?"

_**"We have much to offer, Spark. Longer life than what is normally promised to one of your kind, power like you cannot imagine. The power to protect those you love and more."** _

"But why _me_?"

_**"You are young, you are strong, you love this land and those bound to it. You are the Spark of Beacon."** _

"I belong to the land."

 _ **"And the land belongs to you in turn. If you would claim it."**_ He can feel phantom touches trailing cold and soothing down the back of his neck and gripping his clenched hands. _**"We can teach you how to bend the land to your whim. Build ties between the land and people, the unknown and the mundane,"**_ The burning was starting to fade, leaving a pleasant warmth settled beneath his skin. _**"But it is not absolute."**_

"What do you mean?"

There was a slight hesitation, **_"There are rules, laws, to such power. Limitations set to protect those who have none from those who would abuse it."_** The warmth beneath his skin began to burn again, the feeling of cool touch goes so cold it burns worse than dry ice piercing deep into his flesh. _**"**_ _ **Do you believe that you are capable of obeying these laws? Do you vow to protect those placed into your care, those weaker than you and guide those who would follow you?**_ _ **"**_

"Follow me?"

 _**"** _ _**Yes, there will be those drawn to your power, your strength. It will be your duty to be guide and mentor to the lost, brethren to those of no kin and friend to the forsaken. You will belong to the land, Bound to its fate and those who reside within. Can you do this?** _ _**"** _

He took a deep breath and the burning began to subside once again. He had an idea of what the Nemeton was saying. He had read enough in the books spread across the three supernatural libraries he had access to with the Argent's resources, the hale vault and Deaton's clinic at his disposal. He knew there was more, it couldn't be _that simple_. He he knew everything like this came with a price, that the fine print would be more than he would be willing to pay. But he knew he didn't have any other choice.

"Yes." And the banked fire roared to life, tearing through him. It was agonizing. His head pounded and his hands clawed into the ground, blood welling beneath his nails. Searing cold touch traced patterns into his skin and he's sure he felt blood pooling on his tongue and seeping into his clothes. Like sweating buckets in his nice tee and favourite flannel wasn't bad enough, now he was tacky with blood too. Then it was gone, replaced by the cool gentle humming that buzzed under his fingertips. "What is this?" Beneath his clawed hands the earth rumbled and he could feel the quivering anticipation of the great oaks above him. he could feel the worry of his wolves, the curiousity of the woodland creatures that had moved closer to stand witness. He could feel the stain of an intruder in his lands. "What are you now?"

 _ **"** **We are no more now.** **"**_ He could hear his own voice in the chorus calling out to him. _**"**_ _ **We are tired. Our lands are protected.**_ _ **"**_ The voices faded back and a sense of calm washed over him. He felt the last of the ancient Nemeton's hold on Beacon County, on Hale land, leave as it gave out a last 'breath', as it finally died. And he took his first.

The Nemeton stands from where he been kneeling on the forest floor. He flexes and clenches his hands repeatedly, looking about the clearing with wide brown eyes, lingering on each wolf trying to claw their way through his barrier keeping them from him and his foe. His foe. The dragon who had thought it could come and _take_ what was his. He turns back to the beast.

_"What did you do? What did you do to the Nemeton?!"_

The Nemeton cocks his head as he _looks_ at the dragon. Its really quite young. No wonder it had come to try and drain a weak, supposedly unguarded and abandoned, Nemeton. "We have many names, and we will only earn more as the years pass. Some call Us Spark, fewer call Us Miecyslaw. Some call Us Little Red, and in some circles We are best known as Emissary Hale. We are Beacon. We are the Nemeton. And you," And he grins wide and sharp and bright up at the dragon as it takes a hesitant step back. "You may call Us Mischief. And you are not welcome in Our territory."


	4. Warnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had been told to stay far, far away from Beacon Hills. She had been asked to choose life. She should have listened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots going on in life right now so this one is *really* late and I am sorry to anyone actually following this
> 
>   
>  We kinda got some dark!Stiles, definitely Badass!Stiles and allusions to (ballet)dancer!Stiles (recently discovered that one and am a little obsessed with it at the mo) with possible references to feralpuppy!Scott  
>  Doing some cannon twisting here; Omega is gonna refer to position in the pack, not being a lone wolf. A lone wolf will be referred to as 'Lone', 'Rogue' or 'Feral' for now. 'Lone' and 'Rogue' both mean a wolf on their own but denote different reasons. Lone choose a solitary life for one reason or another whereas Rogue means you have been pushed out of your pack or territory. Again, loose meanings and such for now until I can flesh it out a bit more. 'Feral' means you've gone crazy and are little more than a rabid dog. There is little hope for a 'Feral' wolf and most end up just put down. (Peter was 'Feral')  
>  Scott is not a True Alpha cause it really makes no sense when compared to the rest of cannon and the idea of Stiles' Spark/belief/will being what gave him the Alpha spark doesn't compute either. Like Scott was constantly being dragged along by Stiles' shenanigans and was more of a follower even when his werewolf abilities opened up opportunities for him to step up as a leader at least socially. Also Stiles has been shown to be incredibly protective of those he considers his so I don't see him entrusting Scott with his own well-being let alone anyone else's.

She had been told to stay far, far away from Beacon hills. She was told to stay out of the business of the Hales. She had heard whispers of the young Spark who was something **more** and the pack he was bound to. She had been warned to beware the Nemeton that walked amongst the people and guarded the land at the side of its Alpha. She was told to be smart, to stay away from Beacon Hills. She had been asked to choose life.

She should have listened.

"You will fall."

"He'll catch me."

She huffs out a chuckle that was closer to a snort and it echoed in the abandoned warehouse, "Fool like him would just drop you again."

"Then he'll help me stand right back up." The boy held back a wince and she smiled as he did his best to stand tall and proud and defiant. His jaw is clenched so tight she swears she can hear the grinding of his teeth from here. "One of your kind wouldn't understand. I have faith in him." One of the thugs she had hired goes to restrain the boy again but she waves him off.

"Oh but my child," She keeps her voice soft, soothing and sweet as honey. "Does **he** have faith in **you**?"

And that one hits home. She can see the way his resolve falters for a moment, can hear his breath stuttering in his chest from where she stands as his throat chokes on air and doubt. "Of cour- of course he does!" There's a small chorus of cruel chuckles from the men hidden in the shadows.

She hummed, small ghost of a smirk playing at the edge of her lips. "And I am sure that you truly wish to believe that."

"I do believe it." He huffed, because in his small little mind it was true. It had to be true. "He believes in me, Allison, Isaac, all of us! It's what he does. He believes."

"And where is your True Alpha now?" The boy froze, "Can't be bothered with the itty bitty human running around trying to play hero?"

And the boy laughs.

"You- you think **I'm** the human?" She frowns at the boy, his floppy hair is an utter mess, there's a bruise blooming across his crooked jaw and he still had a hand tenderly holding his side. If he was a wolf he would be healing right now. He laughs again when she tells him as much. The man she had waved off lets a hand fall to his holstered gun and releases the strap. The wolf winces and his other arm comes up to support his ribs as his laughter tapers off. "Oow, wow, oh geez looks like Derek wasn't lying about the bones moving. Augh that just feels _so weird_." He flashes muted gold eyes at her and she can see the barest hint of fang as he grins wide and feral. She can hear more guns being removed from holsters and knives pulled out of hidden sheaths. The smell of Wolfsbane and Mountain Ash hang sour in the air but it doesn't seem to matter to the young wolf. "You should be really glad that I'm **not** the human."

_She had been told to stay far, far away from Beacon Hills._

Looking back, she's not proud of the haughty sniff she gives and the way she lifts her chin, practically sticking her nose in the air like some spoiled Legacy brat and exposing her throat to a natural predator. A natural predator she had injured and backed into a corner. "If you're an example of the were community around here, I don't think I really have anything to worry about."

"But that's the thing," The kid says and now that's he's had some time to get his second wind she can see the bruise on his jaw fading and the hand that was cradling sore ribs is now pushing back the mess of hair that had been falling in his face. "I've been Lone for almost a year, I barely joined the local pack. I'm **recovering** and stuck in a building that **reeks** of Wolfsbane." The grin is still there and there's something burning behind his eyes and she wants to wipe it right off his face. "My Alpha will come for me. But it's the human you should be worried about."

"The last of a dying line and a human are coming for you, a wolf who might as well be Lone." It's not a question but she can't keep the disbelieving tone out of her voice. "I am supposed to believe this, why?"

There's a light chuckle that echoes about the warehouse and makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "Because you don't touch what's mine." The voice is airy and bright as it bounces at her from all sides. There's the light tapping of booted feet touching down on metal, then wood, then the thud of them landing on concrete. She can just see the figure in a plain red hoodie facing her in the shadows. "Oh but you are a long way from home aren't ya? Did someone get lost?" Her hired muscle have the audacity to look scared. Memories of half-whispered warnings flit through head.

_She was told to stay out of the business of the Hales._

_She had heard whispered warnings of the young Spark who was something **more** and the pack he was bound to._

This was not the plan. This was not how things were supposed to go. She can't help the sneer as she turns away from the, now softly, smiling whelp towards the intruder. "Who are you? Where's the Alpha?"

The boy shrugs and lifts up what looks to be a metal baseball bat, resting it on his shoulder. "Who, me? Oh, no one special. Just the dude who's gonna kick your ass. We don't need a grumpy ole Alpha to have some fun." The wolf snorts with a roll of his eyes, muttering something about drama queens.

"Fine," she spits out. "Then I suppose no one will care when your body is found in a ditch come the morning." With a snap of her fingers the first of her hired men is jumping into action. And just as quickly, so is the boy with the bat.

It's impressive, she will admit. The kid looks gangly and uncoordinated at first glance but it's obvious that he has complete control of his body and she's reminded of her old ballet lessons when the kid dodges, kicking off with one leg into a spin and swinging his bat into the back of the man's head as he comes out of it. From there it's all fluid, almost elegant, movement as he spins and dodges and swings his bat through the handful of men rushing him. There are bursts of power, small and almost hesitant and she can feel his too-tight control like he's scared of his own strength. And feeling the washback of power with each small spell he casts, each rune he activates and word of power he mutters, she can't really blame him.

"Is that the best you've got?" He's standing over two still forms and a third that is barely twitching, three more lie in the shadows behind him. There are only two nameless henchmen standing between her and the shining metal streaked in blood and the squeak of soft leather as the boy shifts his grip on the handle of the weapon -because in his hands it could be nothing else. She doesn't bother to count the ones who haven't moved from their places behind her. "I'll give you this one chance to **run**." He smirks and wipes at a drop of blood on his cheek, "Just tell your people that their lives are forfeit if they cross into Hale land without an invitation again." The thugs that are left run with choked whimpers and cries of panic mixed with hearty curses and prayers to whatever gods or beings of power might be able to shield them from this **creature** they have barely managed to escape. If it can be called that. The boy laughs long and loud and it echoes in the dark.

Eyes the colour of sunlit amber and warm whiskey turn on her and she can't tell if they're naturally that bright or if that's a result of the magic pouring off of the boy. She should run, she should follow the others and get the hell out of Beacon Hills. But she can't. Her feet won't move and her hand is loose around her keris athame. She should never have come here. "Wha- what are you?"

He just smiles big and bright and she can't help but feel like it's more a baring of teeth, the warning of a predator, than a smile.

_She had been warned to beware the Nemeton that walked amongst the people and guarded the land at the side of its Alpha._

_She was told to be smart, to stay away from Beacon Hills._

"Some call me Red, some call me Reaper," His voice is light and airy again as he stalks towards her slow and lazy, his bat trailing along the ground alongside him. In the background she's vaguely aware of the wolf digging out wallets and rooting through them for identification while on the phone with someone. She thinks it might be the Sheriff if she heard him right. "In some places I'm Spark or Mischief and in some circles I'm best known as Emissary Hale or Beacon, _Nemeton_. But you?" He presses the head of his bloody bat to her chin and lifts her eyes to his burning ones. She can't help the thought that his very human teeth look sharp as any wolf's she's ever dealt with. "You can just call me Stiles."

_She had been told to stay far, far away from Beacon Hills. She had been asked to choose life._

_She should have listened_


End file.
